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My travelling companion and I recently had a two and a half week trip through Europe, where we ate through some of France/Belgium/Holland’s most interesting restaurants. They included:

yam’Tcha in Paris (1*)

Le Cinq in Paris (3*)

Clown Bar in Paris

Ron Gastrobar in Amsterdam (1*)

BAK in Amsterdam

Bord’Eau in Amsterdam (2*)

de Librije in Zwolle (3*)

Quatre Mains in Bruges

Zetjoe in Bruges [the new face of recently closed De Karmeliet (3*)]

L’Ambroisie in Paris (3*)

Histoires in Paris (2*)

Of those, our favorites were probably:

de Librije

L’Ambroisie

Zetjoe

Bord’Eau

The most disappointing meals we had were:

yam’Tcha

Histoires

We planned L’Ambroisie and Histoires as the pair of meals to end the trip. L’Ambroisie is probably the oldest three Michelin starred restaurant in Paris, having kept its rating since 1988, in an era when Michelin nods mean so much more than today. (The ongoing Michelin brand dilution is happening at too rapid a pace, and their new ratings are a joke) It is a restaurant that I think any gourmand who can afford its hefty price tag should try at least once, because it offers a very purified version of French dishes. This is not a common quality today, when most high-end restaurants agonize over offering tasting menus of 6-10 dishes featuring maybe 20-30 ingredients, where almost all dishes of which are pushed out before they’re ready. Where many chefs look to add ingredients, Bernard Pacaud’s dishes are marked by a synergistic backbone of two or three ingredients which define the dish. Extraneous tastes are removed: for example the dish I remember the most from my last visit was the amuse-bouche: crayfish and peas with a light fennel soup. This capability to step into the diner’s shoes, to taste an intriguing combination of some two-three pure flavors, is all-too-rare.

Our dinner at L’Ambroisie reprised the well-worn cliches of its continuous excellence. The most memorable dish of my dinner this time was Dover sole, with vin jaune sauce, Brussel sprouts and the last of season white truffle. The Dover sole cut like butter, but in truth, the fatty fish was a side show to the axis of a tangy vin jaune, the earthy smell of Alba truffles, and the refreshing bitterness of Brussel sprouts. Service was excellent, and I was surprised by a generous additional serving of the chocolate tart (justly world-famous). At the end of it, I was eagerly anticipating my meal the next day at Chef Pacaud’s son’s restaurant.

The clearest signs of Chef Pacaud’s discerning palate and keen intellect was reflected in a pair of dishes. There is a distinct taste to cooked watercress, which produces a puckering effect in the mouth without being bitter. The taste impression it leaves on the palate is a light puckered savoriness.This is readily apparent to anyone who has had Chinese watercress soup with goji berry and pork broth. Chef Pacaud uses this as the backbone for his signature dish, langoustine with sesame wafer and curry sauce. It would be quite rich, this tangy curry creation, if it were not cut by the hidden mound of cooked watercress at the very bottom, which produces this light puckered savoriness. I tried my companion’s dish of scallops, caviar, and potato, with a raw vegetal sauce. It turned out the raw vegetal sauce was made of watercress as well – with a real vegetal scent that gave enough tension and surprising synergy to the scallop dish that made it sublime. (It is I think, lazy thinking, that lumps all luxury ingredients together, like uni, caviar, scallops, and expects the end result to be more than the sum of the parts, or even the sum of the parts. A great luxury dish requires a unifying element, often a humble ingredient, to truly pull it together).

Mathieu Pacaud, son of Bernard Pacaud, and for 13 years a chef at L’Ambroisie (eventually rising to become co-head Chef with his father) is, as you may be able to tell from a Wikipedia profile which looks PR-agency-written, is much more of an aggressive self-promoter than his father. As I left Paris, he had opened two restaurants – Hexagone (1*), a cocktail bar and restaurant, Histoires (2*), a hidden fine-dining restaurant behind Hexagone, and was in the process of reopening Le Divellec in Paris, a fish bistro, as his third restaurant. He seems to be building a restaurant empire. Nor is he lacking in self-confidence for the prices he charges – the price at Histoires for a set menu was 25% higher than at L’Ambroisie where we had starter-main-dessert – Histoires was the most expensive meal of the trip (and in a trip that includes L’Ambroisie and three other 3* restaurants, that says something!)

When I went to Histoires, my expectations were of dishes of the L’Ambroisie calibre. However, of the dishes there, what was original was not especially sublime, and the sublime touches were not especially original. My dining partner and I agreed that perhaps going to L’Ambroisie the night before had biased us, since the bulk of any of the younger Pacaud’s patient refining would have been on the L’Ambroisie dishes. But with only one exception (a vin jaune sauce pairing with a more intense and boozy vin jaune sabayon) the touches were not as good as at L’Ambroisie. Parisian diners being a discerning bunch probably know this – I know Paris dining has been suffering since the Nov 2015 terror attacks, but at L’Ambroisie I could only spot one empty table for two, at Histoires only 4 out of the 7 tables were filled, and only 1 of those was French speaking. The other 3 (including us) were first-time visitors and tourists. For reference, the other Parisian tables we visited were completely filled – yam’Tcha, Le Cinq, and the Clown Bar. The only half-full restaurant on our trip was Histoires.

I usually review restaurants separately, but given the obvious affinity of the two restaurants it would be illuminating to see the dishes side by side.

L’AMBROISIE RATING: 19.5/20

HISTOIRES RATING: 14.5/20

L’AMBROISIE

Crunchy cheese kugelhopf – really good, I think this was made of Parmesan. A warm bite with a soft centre. (5/5)

Beetroot soup, cream of mustard seeds, foie flan underneath – alright. A bit unrefined in the beetroot soup texture, which was quite grainy and not too harmonious with the foie (4/5)

As above: The clearest signs of Chef Pacaud’s discerning palate and keen intellect was reflected in a pair of dishes. There is a distinct taste to cooked watercress, which produces a puckering effect in the mouth without being bitter. The taste impression it leaves on the palate is a light puckered savoriness.This is readily apparent to anyone who has had Chinese watercress soup with goji berry and pork broth. Chef Pacaud uses this as the backbone for his signature dish, langoustine with sesame wafer and curry sauce. It would be quite rich, this tangy curry creation, if it were not cut by the hidden mound of cooked watercress at the very bottom, which produces this light puckered savoriness. I tried my companion’s dish of scallops, caviar, and potato, with a raw vegetal sauce. It turned out the raw vegetal sauce was made of watercress as well – with a real vegetal scent that gave enough tension and surprising synergy to the scallop dish that made it sublime. (It is I think, lazy thinking, that lumps all luxury ingredients together, like uni, caviar, scallops, and expects the end result to be more than the sum of the parts, or even the sum of the parts. A great luxury dish requires a unifying element, often a humble ingredient, to truly pull it together).

Melba de noix de Saint-Jacques au caviar golden, coulis de cresson

I didn’t have a full portion, but from what I tasted, the scallops were real toothy and had serious texture, with a perfectly textured potato cream and watercress sauce. The caviar added the proper salty element. A perfect dish I think

As above: The most memorable dish of my dinner this time was Dover sole, with vin jaune sauce, Brussel sprouts and the last of season white truffle. The Dover sole cut like butter, but in truth, the fatty fish was a side show to the axis of a tangy vin jaune, the earthy smell of Alba truffles, and the refreshing bitterness of Brussel sprouts

Salmis de supremes de pigeon aux coings, cuisses en pastilla

Pear sorbet with caramel of pear

Boule nacree aux fruits exotiques emulsion neigeuse au Passoa (5/5)

A really excellent dish, a refreshing sugar sphere with coconut whipped cream, and peach. Passionfruit was only outside. It helped refresh our palates

Souffle chaud a la nougatine de noix, cafe liegeois

Brioche fine en pain perdu, reine des reinettes caramelisee

Tarte sablee au cacao amer, galce a la vanille Bourbon (5/5)

No words – best no-flour chocolate tart anywhere, which a crunchy base

Alcoholic reprise of pear sorbet with caramel

HISTOIRES

Mocktail: Cucumber, rosewater, juniper, tonic water

Amuse bouche 1:

Brioche mousseline et creme d’oignons

Cornet croustillant a la creme de saumon

Langoustines au Caviar Golden

Marbre de foie gras de canard (5/5)

Of these, I found the foie sandwich amazing, having solid consistency and saltiness. A decadent bite.

The black truffle, served on warm scallops didn’t release its flavor fully due to the temperature. The ingredients were individually good but as a dish failed to come together. (3.25/5)

Royales Scampi: Anise Cream and caviar Golden

4/5, but maybe 4.5/5 if you like anise flavors. The scampi had a slight bitter, iodine taste, which paired well with the seawater jelly. Tropezienne sauce, based off of a Provence pastry, was anise flavored. The dominant flavor palette of the dish was sweet. I generally did not like iodine taste of the scampi or the anise flavors of the Tropezienne sauce, but cannot deny someone with a sweet tooth might like it better

Foie Gras: Red wine decoction with star anise

4/5. A huge hockey puck of foie gras with a fig and star-anise red wine. That is all. Not sure what the chef was thinking here.

Sole: Root vegetables and caviar Golden

This was the sole dish which had an idea that improved over a L’Ambroisie version – the vin jaune was paired with a vin jaune sabayon which was much boozier and sweeter, allowing for a more complex sauce. However the balance of the dish was not as good. The buttery dover sole I had at L’Ambroisie was a conveyance for the axis of Brussel sprouts – vin jaune – white truffle. Arguably the Brussel sprouts harmonized that dish. Here the root vegetables were not discernable, and the dominant notes were Dover sole and vin jaune – a less balanced and much richer combination – which over-satiated me. Overall rating: not perfect, but interesting. 4.75/5

Blue Lobster: Pumpkin and chestnut, “sauce diable”

The firmness of the blue lobster was great. But what was the point of composing a dish of it with meaty hunks of carrot and chestnut, with little sauce to tie it together. A failure of composition. 2.5/5

Trou Normand: Lemon, vodka tonic

We were getting stuffed at this point!

Chicken from Bresse: Stuffed with black truffle, wild mushrooms

Slightly tough. The best part was the roast skin, lightly perfumed with the black truffle mash underneath the skin. Unfortunately the Bresse chicken showed none of its superior characteristics, and the breast was indistinguishable from a supermarket rotisserie chicken – tough, dry, mostly tasteless with the slight sour-neutral taste of pure white protein. In fact the skin did not show off much crispness except in parts. Compared to a roast Belgian Malines chicken served with sherry sauce we had two nights before at Zetjoe in Bruges, this was not in the same galaxy. A mediocre preparation of chicken. (2.5/5) However, the wild mushroom with slices of cheese was good.

Cheese (hard cheeses)

Dessert: Big waltz in seven compositions

Wild strawberry, yoghurt sorbet

Lemon sorbet

Williams pear, Madagascar vanilla

Cacao Mont Blanc

Blancmange with passionfruit and mango

Salted caramel with coffee cream

Hazelnut praline and nuts

There were many similar themes with our dessert assortment the night before, – where L’Ambroisie had a sugar ball with passionfruit and mango, here it was a springy blancmange. A hazelnut praline with nuts reminded me of a nougatine souffle the night before; the coffee caramel cream jelly in the clear cup reminded me of the caffe Liegeois the night before. However, at this point we were getting full, and felt that there was no real perfect dessert that anchored this assortment. Instead, it just seemed a profusion of passable desserts, like a chef regurgitating his culinary curriculum on the table by “Priori Incantatem”. What makes the L’Ambroisie assortment incomparably better in my view, is that all of them are fucking good, with the emphasis on “fucking good” rather than “dessert assortment”.

Sweets

Now, I should note for fairness that the other two tourist (American) couples seemed to be enjoying themselves, praising the sommeliers on multiple occasions and holding extended conversations with them – the nature of the Histoires set-up is that you can hear most of the conversations around the room unless you whisper. It may be that Mathieu Pacaud’s food is meant to be wine food, and we didn’t order wine besides a glass of champagne to start. But in that case, I still can’t recommend it to the teetotalling crowd, of which I am an occasional member.

The post-meal damage, as mentioned, was about 25% higher than L’Ambroisie, about 390 euros per person, which made it our most expensive Paris meal by quite some distance. If I’m going to spend this amount on food, I want at least one amazing dish in my meal. Histoires failed to provide that and that’s why it was probably one of the most disappointing meals of the trip. It is still a mystery to me, how a chef of Mathieu Pacaud’s calibre and pedigree could serve such absolutely clunkers as the Blue Lobster and Bresse chicken dish, with little or no synergy between its ingredients, or make such a vacuous show of average desserts, like some cheap prestidigitation. And the hockey puck of foie was just lazy. My dining partner and I concluded that he is still probably trying to find his own style and signature, but honestly, the ardours taken to build a restaurant empire are not promising for near-term culinary development.

Farewell, Christian Le Squer and your wonderful Ledoyen. We stepped into Ledoyen without knowing it would be our last meal at the place, in its current incarnation. The reason for that last meal, is that head chef Christian Le Squer is quitting Ledoyen, and his last service will be on June 30th. For 15 years he has headed Ledoyen, and for 12 of the 15 years of his tenure Ledoyen has been a 3-star restaurant. Only this year in 2014, has he been awarded 5 toques from Gault-Millau. But what a meal we had there: we encountered a restaurant performing at the top of its game.

[Le Squer will be replaced by Yannick Alleno (lately in charge of the 3* Le Meurice in Paris before quitting to start his own company, and having Le Meurice taken over by Alain Ducasse). Le Squer plans to cook in his 1* restaurant etc… in the 16th arrondisement until the end of 2014, until which he will try to crown another venture with 3 stars.]

One regret is that I’ll not get to taste the spaghetti dish at Ledoyen. Here’s a picture from Luxeat. That is one of the stunning dishes of world cuisine. It was out, because Le Squer doesn’t do them with non-aromatic mushrooms – only morels, or white truffles, or black truffles. (the black truffles are the one recommended by the maitre d’) I will have to find them at Le Squer’s next venture.

I found the blend of modernist and classical touches here delightful (though the modernist touches on the amuse were a bit weaker than the classical dishes). There is very little new I can say that a lot of other bloggers have said besides [e.g. Andy Hayler, Ulterior Epicure], the classics menu was perfect in execution, and perfect in conception. Ledoyen’s classics menu is perhaps one of the touchpoints for a gastronomic education. A second regret is that I won’t get to try Le Squer’s modernist menu.

Might I also repeat how much I enjoy haute-cuisine in Paris? It is not just the divine food, it is the history of the dining spaces I eat in – a couple of days ago, we sat in the room of the old L’Archestrate, and the previous day, we sat in the quarter-century-old setting of L’Ambroisie. Today, the two-century-old Ledoyen. One might succumb to Stendhal syndrome…

HISTORY

During the late 18th century, it was a haunt of Louis de Saint-Just and Maximilien Robespierre and they dined there on 26 July 1794, two days before their execution. Napoleon and Joséphine de Beauharnais reportedly met at the restaurant and the restaurant was also a favourite of artists and writers such as Danton, Marat, Degas, Monet, Zola, Flaubert and Guy de Maupassant. A mid-19th-century account states that the restaurant was also the breakfast place of duellists, who, after shooting at each other in the Bois de Boulogne, reconciled over breakfast at Ledoyen. – Wikipedia

In mid-1999:

“Yes, there had been early warning signs of turmoil in the haute cuisine. First came news that Mme. Ghislaine Arabian, the highest-ranking woman chef in France, had been forced to leave her ill-starred two-star kitchen at Ledoyen in the park of the Champs-Élysées after she angrily fired one of her young cooks on camera during the making of a television documentary.” – Jeffrey Steingarten, “Is Paris Learning?”, It Must’ve Been Something I Ate.

The Breton Christian Le Squer took over the kitchen right after Mme. Arabian in 1999, and Ledoyen held its two-star rating, and elevated to its third star in 2002.

CLASSICS MENU

Amuse

Spherified rosewater (3.5/5) – subtle, not sweet let alone cloyingly sweet which is a credit to the kitchen, good taste

One in the shell, one within a breaded and fried dumpling. Acidulated olive oil + vinaigrette

The langoustines were sweet and firm in both, the kitchen able to get the great texture in very different preparations. It paired brilliantly with the acidulated foam.

Blanc de Turbot de Ligne juste Braisé, Pommes Rattes Truffées (5/5)

A rectangle of turbot, with just-mashed potato, and a truffle-butter sauce.

The mashed potato chunks, not really mashed potatoes in the puree sense we have come to know it, but chunks of potato that have been mashed, were swimming in a most decadent truffle butter sauce, beneath a foam. On top, a conceit of plating, stripes of black truffle bits. The turbot was two filets stacked on each other, though right at the start, so it wasn’t evident when I cut it.

Since we weren’t in black truffle season, the truffles used were frozen. This decreased the truffle aroma, but increased the evident decadence of the butter sauce with turbot, which had its gelatinous texture well brought out. This was clearly a perfected dish.

Truffles: Ledoyen under Christian Le Squer may have been a winter play

A whole lobe of sweetbread, skewered by lemongrass, roasted, and sitting on a bed of beans. The sauce was made of 9 different herbs, very good

The sweetbread had a soft creamy texture, the generous portions allowing me to savor each bite – the texture of this lobe was reminiscent of another roasted-but-soft-inside ingredient, foie. Their two soft textures explain why they are so prized. A sweet glaze outside, the inner lemongrass skewers giving the sweetbreads a vague Thai flavor. Fantastic

Les Fromages (5/5)

Eaten in order from clockwise from 12 o’clock:

The maitre d’, going off my three choices of St Felicien, Mimolette and Beaufort, rounded it off with the Banon. Nothing to say, except that the cheese mini-tasting sequence was absolutely superb, each cheese playing off the other (5/5). The Banon in particular was a welcome palate-cleanser in between the sweet-potato-ish Mimolette and the salted-egg Beaufort. This may be the very greatest cheesecart I’ve ever tasted.

24 month old Beaufort (5/5) – sweet, salty, starchy, with the mouthfeel of salted egg, a truly marvelous cheese, which contrasts completely with the creamy textures of younger Beauforts. Unique.

Mignardises 1:

Spherified pineapple (4/5)

Pistachio macaron (4.5/5)

Raspberry stuffed in strawberry (4/5)

Passionfruit pastry (4.5/5)

Yeast ice cream / White caramel film / Meringue / Silver Leaf (5/5)

“Chef wants you to have this, in order to ‘shock the palate’ “. The yeasty flavor (which yeast? what proportions, if a mixture?) was pronounced, capturing a hearty, bready flavor. For such a thin film, the caramel flavor came through strongly.

Croquant de Pamplemousse cuit et cru (5/5)

One of the best no chocolate/ no cream desserts I have tasted.

From bottom up, 4 layers of grapefruit celebration, in increasing order of abstraction away from the fruit:

First a sweet confit grapefruit skin to form a fruit leather base, to capture some of the bitter tastes of the fruit

Second fresh grapefruit, to give the tastes of the original fruit

Third sorbet, to refresh the palate, and give a cool temperature mouthfeel.

Fourth a grapefruit sugar glass to give a crunchy texture.

Chocolat / Framboise, Cacao légèrement Fumé (5/5)

A perfect classic chocolate/ raspberry combination, a classical bookend to the meal as the amuses were modernist.

Mignardises 2:

Chocolates and Caramels (5/5)

Kouign Amann (5/5)

A very strong end to the meal.

We had feared the kouign amann was soggy from the caramel, but it was perfectly crisp.

ON THE LANGOUSTINES: “This is a house classic. I have eaten this dish at least ten times and, if I could, I would eat it every day. The langoustine quality here is a close second to what I can find in the great seafood temples of Spain (Galician langoustines) or in La Taupiniere in Brittany (another victim of the Michelin guide’s palette challenged inspectors). Probably they are fresh frozen and sent to Paris immediately. But they are still succulent and sweet, although a bit less firm compared to langoustines that have not seen any ice. LeSquer prepares a brilliant mousse-like olive oil-agrumes infusion with the two large langoustines, one encased with kataifi and deep fried, and the other appropriately cooked a la plancha, as they do in Spain.”

ON THE SWEETBREADS: “This is always a masterpiece, a 20/20 dish. It is light, creamy, and intense and excellent quality. The whole lobe of milk-fed veal sits on a lemongrass or citronelle stick. The lobe is glazed with jus, crispy dried sweetbread crumbs and lemon peel. Salfsify sticks are cut in a rectangular shape and braised with butter. The herbal sauce is rich, complex and refreshing (due to the agrumes jus and raspberry vinegar used in deglazing). The sweetbread is crisp outside, but very juicy inside. This is an exceptional, 20/20 dish.”

It seems timeless, as if it has existed at the beautiful Place des Vosges forever. But that is an illusion. 27 years ago in December 1987, Bernard and Daniele Pacaud moved the then-2* L’Ambroisie to an old silversmith’s shop, at the Place des Vosges. In the 1988 Michelin Guide, 2* L’Ambroisie was elevated to three Michelin stars, a rating it has kept until today.

We were greeted and ushered into the first dining room by Madame Pacaud. It was cosy, and the lighting came from a Baroque chandelier above our heads. A candle was lighted, an arrangement of fresh flowers. “This might be the most romantic dining room in Paris”. And on the table, salt and pepper shakers (I rarely, if ever, see them at haute-cuisine establishments). That said to me, the diner’s enjoyment is paramount.

Just as rare: No tasting menu. Starter, main course, dessert.

I wanted to dine at L’Ambroisie, precisely because of that gesture; a throwback to an earlier age. Until now, my dining experiences at restaurants considered to be at the top end; restaurants capable of creating transcendental meals, were limited to restaurants with a short history, about 10-20 years at the most. In the United States, the 3* restaurants are unfailingly young (The French Laundry, the Daniel of Daniel Boulud [from Le Cirque], and the Le Bernardin of Gilbert Le Coze, being the three oldest 3*’s in the United States). The other seven (Per Se, Eleven Madison Park, Brooklyn Fare, Jean-Georges, Masa, Alinea, Meadowood) are considerably younger.

What other restaurants are like L’Ambroisie? Such a combination of (A) storied history and (B) a preserved cooking style exist only at a handful of restaurants, and (C) at the 3* level is truly, truly rare: Paul Bocuse in Lyon, and Jiro’s sushi outlet in Tokyo are the only other top restaurants that immediately come to my mind. Troisgros, birthplace of nouvelle-cuisine, seems to be experimenting in an Asian fusion style in its third-generation.

I wanted to experience nouvelle cuisine: as in its heyday in the 80s and 90s, when it was still considered the state-of-the-art. How was the food? Intense. Perfection, or very close to it, with every dish. Each dish seemed a minimalist masterpiece to the eye, comprising four or five principal ingredients. It had all the intensity of the best of classical French haute-cuisine, with none of the heaviness. Many of these dishes deserve to be painted and hung as portraits.

And I think it is at L’Ambroisie that I have found the surest hand for caviar. By that I mean, the caviar isn’t fetish-ised and the show-stopper everytime it is served. It is a very sure chef who can relegate the caviar to the supporting role for an asparagus and egg dish, or the supporting role for a line-caught sea-bass with young artichokes. And yet the instinct is precise, and the caviar plays a first-class supporting-role. I am glad to have caught the Pacauds’ cooking (Bernard Pacaud, or his son Mathieu Pacaud who is taking over). To me, L’Ambroisie is the ultimate French haute-cuisine experience.

The food seems timeless. But not events off-table: Surprisingly, L’Ambroisie is going to open a second branch in a Macau casino. It is assured that “the Pacauds will be regularly cooking at the Macau restaurant”. To ensure quality, they need to put a senior chef (perhaps even one of the Pacauds?) in Macau. Will this harm the L’Ambroisie flagship in Paris? One hopes not. But in this corner of the Place des Vosges, it seems even the masters of nouvelle cuisine have been touched by the nouveau riche.

Rating: 20/20

(We switched plates so that we could each try as much of the L’Ambroisie menu as possible. My impressions follow)

Amuse: Choux, Quenelle of cream and caviar, Ginger on top (5/5)

Top class. The caviar (well-distributed in the quenelle) paired perfectly with a very light cream. Excellent choux. Elevated by the globules of fish oil from the caviar. A little ginger spiced it out. I don’t think I can tire of such a great combination of choux-cream-caviar

Crayfish and green peas, with a fava-fennel soup. Anise-like flavors. A sweet cream soup (veloute?) from fava and fennel, with aforementioned light anise flavors, made for a refreshing bite. Needless to say the crayfish was of first-class sweetness, texture and colour, the peas juicy.

A L’Ambroisie house signature, these sweet langoustines were done to a texture soft to the front bite, and yet maintained some resistance to the back bite. Covered with a sesame crisp, just done vegetables, and a curry sauce.

A superb flavor combination, especially the delicate curry sauce which did complemented the langoustines superbly.

Say what you like about L’Ambroisie and its prices, they are generous with the caviar. When they put a spoonful of caviar, they put a spoon-FULL of caviar. Also I noticed that they don’t use mother-of-pearl unlike most other restaurants. I have heard that L’Ambroisie sources its caviar from both Iran and China. I didn’t inquire, but this was top class stuff. Delicious and decadent, firm globules of rounded salinity.

The hot-cold boiled egg, which is boiled to ensure a solid white but runny yolk, and cooled down to ensure the yolk stops cooking, is perched on pieces of asparagus with watercress puree, and a heap of caviar. This was possibly the best asparagus dish of the entire trip, acquiring the salt from the caviar.

By the side, an egg with (I believe) watercress sauce, with another spoon of caviar. Superb.

Foie gras terrines can be overwhelming unless intelligently paired with sour fruit, since it is of a uniform buttery texture. Here, the biscuit from gingerbread and crystallised rhubarb gave variation to the texture of the terrine. It was a delight to eat, with none of feelings of satiety that can result. Further, the lemon confit and strawberries had sour tastes that cut away from the unctuousness of foie. A really good foie cake.

Another L’Ambroisie house signature. Three pieces of perfectly filleted “bar” (translated as “seabass”) on top of slices of artichoke heart, on a reduction of nage (white-wine, butter, fish broth) and dotted generously with caviar.

Luxury ingredients, played with a delicate hand. It was perfect for its conception, reduced and perfected to its ultimate form. It was very good, though the whole dish’s flavor combination did not blow my mind. (except for the nage with caviar). I did not sense, for example, an especial harmony between the bar and the artichokes.

It is hard in general not to fall in love with this aristocratic and refined fish, whose tender meat seems to be pampered by nature as if only the best of two worlds – hermaphroditic, the fish produces eggs, claiming its female origin, until later in life its ovaries dry up and it switches hormones to produce sperm – can deliver this extraordinary softness and piquant, delicate taste, but when it is a line-caught specimen, delivered the same day and handled with extreme care, sea bass becomes a real treat. The extraordinary preparation of the sea bass at L’Ambroisie secured its fluffy texture – characteristic of extremely fresh fish, the flesh of which generally becomes slightly firmer the day after the catch, which is not always a negative, since its taste still remains superb, providing the fish was stored properly (another advantageous quality of sea bass compared to other no-less-glorious species like turbot, for instance, whose taste and texture deteriorate rapidly with time) — and the skin tightly embraced the flesh so that every cell of its pattern was glittering in the artificial light almost decoratively, while the moist, tender and cushiony meat added a sensual legato to the tableau. –

Spectacular. Dover Sole with an amazing vin jaune sauce. The sauces were really intense, incredible. Asparagus, fantastic. Chanterelles. Who doesn’t love them? A combination of three perfect elements that was executed as precisely and perfectly as conceivable.

Side plate: Chanterelles with fresh almonds. The chanterelles were as tasty as the fresh almonds were crisp. I’m sure I’m not alone in loving the baby-delicate, slightly-vegetal crunch of fresh almonds. These were perfect. (5/5)

A side of milk-fed veal, with a tremendously perfect jus, asparagus and an old Comte covering on top of the asparagus. The asparagus was perfect. The veal, too, had an amazing melt in the mouth texture I did not know was possible from veal, recalling a meatier otoro. The veal as with all young animals lacking in taste in order to produce a great texture, needed the jus to unify taste and texture.

The savory dark, sticky jus, was almost bitter in its intensity and darkness. Perfect.

With another side of girolle (chanterelle) mushrooms.

Assortiment de desserts et pâtisseries:

Parfait glacé à la réglisse et framboises (5/5)

A raspberry-licorice sorbet. Refreshing.

Dacquoise au praliné, giboulée de fraises de jardin (5/5)

A tremendous dacquoise (a cake made with layering nut-flavored meringues with cream). Here the meringues sandwiched a hazelnut cream. The meringues were light, and contrasted beautifully with the cream. It was every bit the equal of the legendary chocolate tart, the two were like yin (chocolate) and yang (hazelnut)

Tarte fine sablée au cacao, glace à la vanille Bourbon (5/5)

The legendary L’Ambroisie chocolate tart – the chocolate as light as air, melting on the tongue like a cloud, it was perfect with a vanilla ice cream. A classic, intense combination.

There is an extended disquisition by a learned lady named “lxt”: Perhaps it is just an old habit of mine to attempt to characterize all establishments through a prism of current and historical stylistic influences, interweaving threads of commonality among the arts, music, and food, or perhaps style is what defines any creation, and it, or rather its presence is not only a hallmark, an imprint of imagination, but a clear representation of a personal expression and philosophy, but I’m not generally settled until I identify a chef’s style. For instance, Passard is the most vivid representative of Minimalism in food, while his former student Barbot (L’Astrance) is primitivist. While Berasategui’s cuisine gives the impression of a French contemporary influence with his overuse of quiet, cautious flavors, Gagnaire’s contemporary style is more vocal and is closer to Glen Brown’s approach (not Kandinsky’s, as Beaugé suggested in Francois Simon’s “Pierre Gagnaire: Reflections on Culinary Artistry” nor is it minimalist as stated in the same book) in how he treats “savage” recipes and ingredients (the beef aspic dish), eliminating the element of “rough brushstrokes” while introducing a gracious refinement of “lines,” and in how both of them use the historical context (e.g. Gagnaire’s classic turbot in buttery cream turned modernistic with a spike of African melegueta pepper). Piege seemed to be struggling to stray away from the Baroque of Ducasse’s style on my visit to Les Ambassadeurs, and Senderens (Lucas Carton), the father of minimalism, aside from an occasional tiredness, maintains some elements of restrained Art Nouveau, just like the décor of the restaurant itself. L’Ambroisie, however, seemed to be the hardest one to “file” not due to its lack of style – to the contrary, there was something very personal and expressive in Pacaud’s cooking – but because it didn’t seem to fall under any of the existing categories of predefined stylistic formulations. His cuisine doesn’t posses that indefinable “animalism” that cannot be resolved intellectually because it is addressed not to our intelligence but to our senses only, nor does it rely on a theme and thirty variations, with set forms and complicated constructions built on key relations and symbolism, nourishing our curiosity more than our senses. Neither conservative (with classical grandeur and heaviness of individual dishes) nor avant-garde (gathering together smaller, interlocking units [dishes] of shorter breath while corresponding more closely to the overall tasting flow), with a good instinct to weave all components of an individual dish into an enjoyable unity, his style seemed to represent a work of “realism” composed by a romantic whose imagination and invention were accompanied by the supervision of an alert critical mind.

I especially liked this passage: “Arguably, to call this tiny place located in one of my favorite squares on earth, the regal Place des Vosges, a “restaurant” is misleading. In fact, L’Ambroisie is rather an institution which is quintessentially French, and one that can only be found in Paris. Like all institutions grounded in historical traditions, L’Ambroisie has its set of unwritten rules and codes of behavior. One salient rule is that customers at L’Ambroisie are perceived less as passive recipients of gastronomic delights whose needs have to be pampered at all costs, but rather as potential partners and friends of a culinary institution who will internalize the culture over repeated visits. It is therefore the client who should adjust his expectations to suit the mores/norms of the restaurant and not the other way around. To some, especially some non-French more steeped in individualist traditions, this attitude is seen as elitist and nationalist, and their first visit to L’Ambroise (if they have managed to get a reservation) is often the last one. Yet for others, the type of classic traditions that this restaurant epitomizes and stands for are perceived as a magical escape from the dictates of modern fads and realities of the marketplace, and they appreciate the type of professionalism and perfectionism that is expressed in this institution. Thus for many people, including this writer, the first visit to L’Ambroisie is the beginning of a journey whose rewards increase with each repeated visit and whose pleasures, both culinary and intellectual, may be savored long after the end of your meal.”

“Chances are that, just like a lucky man who can bed a different lady every night for 30 consecutive days and then will even forget their names, if you are privileged enough to dine in 30 three star restaurants in a given year, you will no longer remember what you ate where. To continue with the above analogy, the first few experiences will be enchanting, but then you will grow tired and feel the need to settle…Well, not to settle with one, but with a few… With those with true character and identity. L’Ambroisie and Ledoyen are among my two favorites, not only in Paris, but possibly in the world, among three star restaurants. I can enumerate the three reasons. 1. In general, these restaurants serve great ingredients, better ingredients than what I can buy in the best local markets in the States. Ingredients. I have seen frozen fish, canned seafood, and average quality meat in many three star restaurants (even great technique cannot hide the flaws). I am not saying that all ingredients are the best of the available category in L’Ambroisie and Ledoyen, but I insist that they achieve a very high level on average. 2. These restaurants do not bombard me with 20+ courses and fill my blood with sugar at the end of the meal. After the amuse, I get a few courses, maybe four, and I can remember them and salivate for months after the meal. I believe it is much more difficult to turn a duck breast into a memorable dish than to serve corn mousse, jellified espelette peppers, argan oil, powderized feta, and crystallized geranium in a cornet. 3. The meal has a true identity. I understand fully that it is French haute cuisine, inspired by classical dishes, rooted in a culinary tradition, with some twists.”

I was back. 2 years after a life-changing meal at L’Arpege (my first) in the winter of 2012, where I was served a marvellous parade of dishes (a perfectly executed salad, Cevennes onion gratin, vegetable ravioli, Harlequin Gardener with vegetable sausage, and a superb millefeuille) I returned to the minimalist dining room, with the triptych to Bacchus hanging over the dining room. It was as minimalist as I had remembered it, laminated wood, functional rather than luxurious chairs, and simple table arrangements. The colours, would come not from the decor, but the vegetal stars gracing our plates. And what colour!

One of the pleasures of dining out, is that each great restaurant is unique in its own way. We had dined the previous week at The Fat Duck, where the greatness of the restaurant was in the sheer amount of thought that went into every little detail of the dish, from theoretical construction to the actual assembly and cooking of the dish. (see The Fat Duck Head Chef Jonny Lake talking about how they conceptualised the magnificent Lamb dish, to see what I am talking about). Alain Passard gives each of his dishes equal thought, tasting and refining his raw vegetable products from his farms before serving them. (See the graphic novella: In the Kitchen with Alain Passard) But where at The Fat Duck, portions are measured to scientific accuracy and dishes refined and re-refined in an R&D lab months before they go on the tasting menu, Passard’s improvisational cooking style draws from his love of music, and he is much more willing to let the testimony of his ingredients speak for themselves.

I had also dined at 1* Hedone in London the previous week, and though I found the ingredients impeccable, I found myself enjoying the minimalism at L’Arpege more than at Hedone. The two both prize the testimony of the ingredient, the voice of the ingredient above all else. So why did I enjoy the minimalism at L’Arpege more? I can only think that it is an intellectual response to a great chef’s vision. Passard’s vision of a vegetable cuisine, with vegetable sausages, top-class ravioli, the revaluation of beetroot in his sushi (improved over the winter version, which had an unnecessary dab of wasabi, now gone) – is compelling, above even a chef that demonstrates catholic knowledge over the provenance of a wide range of ingredients. Restriction of the option-space of ingredients to just vegetables, gives the chef that much more to do, to transform and subvert our expectations. And Passard is a great chef, one whose skills are well-suited to the task. In the end though, it is a matter of taste whether one would better enjoy a first-rate meal of the stereotypical ingredients – amuse, vegetables, seafood, red meat, dessert – or if one would better enjoy a first-rate meal that up-ends and subverts those expectations.

And yet L’Arpege is not perfect. Part of the reason I enjoyed it less than in winter two years ago: many of the tropes and gestures from my winter meal were repeated. Beetroot sushi was repeated, as well as the veloute, and the ravioli, with the Harlequin gardener, roast chicken, millefeuille. As it was only my second meal at L’Arpege, I had been hoping to try a broader range of Passard’s cooking. Perhaps I should have ordered the vegetable tasting option, or gone carte blanche, instead of the grand menu. A second possible reason: I found the grand menu very similar (in that only one dish was completely changed – the blue lobster substituted for the potatoes) from the lunch tasting menu. For €200 Euros more (€140 vs €340), it left me feeling a bit short-changed. If there is a better way to ensure that lunch patrons don’t order your grand tasting menu at lunch, I’d like to hear it. Perhaps that is the point – the grand menu being for tourists rather than locals, who know the ins-and-outs of navigating a meal at L’Arpege.

Was it still a first-rate meal? Yes. Was it worth the money plonked down this time? I am on the fence on this one, for both the considerable repetition, and the feeling of €200 misspent. I have heard meals at L’Arpège being described as expensive gambles. When a Passard meal comes off, it is truly magnificent, an eighth wonder of the world. When it doesn’t, it falls to earth with a resounding thud. Among my friends who have had the fortune to dine at L’Arpege, I have noticed two contrasting reactions – no one sits on the fence – the first, if fortune smiles, being that one is a convert to Passard’s vision. The second, if ill-starred, is that one forswears off L’Arpege. Having had both experiences, I now understand both points of view. The arras is drawn, I now look forward to a third meal at L’Arpege with both the hope of transcendence, and the knowledge that I might yet be disappointed.

A nice, immediate amuse, served seconds after we were seated at the table

2. Vegetable tartlets: Beetroot/Green Peas/Purple Potato (4/5)

An amusing permutation carousel of vegetable tartlets: (A) Green pea puree topped with a piece of potato (B) purple potato puree with green pea on top (C) Beetroot puree with a green bean on top.

Country Bread

With Jean-Yves Bordier butter (5/5). Salty, real depth of flavor.

3. Sushi de betterave au geranium (4.5/5)

moutarde d’Orleans

This version was better than the one I hadtwo years ago, which then had wasabi overpowering the sweet beetroot. Here the wasabi had vanished, and was replaced by a pleasing geranium oil, which gave it a appetising floral fragrance to accompany to smooth sweetness of the beetroot.

4. Chaud froid d’oeuf au sirop d’érable (4.75/5)

4 épices & vinaigre de Xeres

The L’Arpege egg, which I had personally made, with David Kinch’s Manresa recipe

I had also tried it (the Arpege egg) at Manresa a couple of months earlier, in April 2014. There it is lighter, the maple syrup goes padfooted on the sherry vinegar cream, (5-6 drops in the Manresa drizzle). At L’Arpege, the maple syrup found its way into the poached egg yolk – which was sweetened. Perhaps the syrup was whipped straight into the egg yolk this time?

In “It Must’ve Been Something I Ate”, the food critic Jeffrey Steingarten details the quatre-epices:

“This common French combination of four spices, used especially in charcuterie, typically includes black or white pepper, nutmeg, cloves or cinnamon, and ginger, and is sold already prepared in bottles. Passard makes his own, using white pepper [Sarawak?] and going heavy on the ginger. To follow him, use a (clean) electric coffee grinder, the kind with a whirling horizontal blade, to pulverize 2 tablespoons white peppercorns. Add 1/4 teaspoon ground clove, 3/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg, and 2 teaspoons powdered ginger, and grind them all together until the mixture is extremely fine.”

Purple turnip, rhubarb, purple basil. Pairing ingredients with similar colour profiles, or chromatic cooking. Here the sour rhubarb offset the sweeter purple turnip. The surprise of the dish was an intense purple sauce, right at the very bottom of the bowl. Where had it appeared from? It was intensely sweet, like root-vegetable candy. The pairing with the last bite of rhubarb was sublime.

Jeffrey Steingartenin It Must’ve Been Something I Ate details the probable origins of that purple sauce – a version of jus de legumes, probably made from reducing the jus de navet (turnip) and adding honey –

“Jus de legumes can mean a variety of things; at L’Arpege, it is light and sweet, and relies mainly on the wealth of vegetable juices left over from preparing various dishes. Here we must start from scratch. To make 2 1/2 cups of jus, enough for both recipes: In a 4-quart saucepan put 10 cups of roughly chopped vegetables (carrots, celery, onions, black radishes, turnips, leeks, rutabaga, and in the winter, celery root). Cover with cold water, about 6 cups. Add 2 tablespoons of salted butter. Bring to a simmer, partially cover, and cook for 40 minutes. Strain the liquid and reduce it by about half to 2 1/2 cups. Taste it and smile. Add any pan juices left over from cooking the red onion and the celery root”.

7. Asperge blanche de la vallee de la Sarthe (4.25/5)

geranium & oseille large de Belleville

Roasted white asparagus, sorrel, and bay leaf oil. Juicy white stalks, really top class white asparagus. I however did not find the accompaniments of bay leaf oil and sorrel to add much aroma to this dish, and there was a pickled leaf (bay leaf? seaweed?) the slight sourness of which was out of place in the dish.

a €200 dish (this was the one completely changed dish from the €140 lunch tasting menu). So how was it? The sweet and sour sauce was truly superb, tasting complex. But I was not taken with the cold chunks of lobster, underneath the tender slices of turnip. It resembled a cold preparation of sweet-and-sour seafood salad from a Chinese banquet, and I failed to detect the quality differential in the Breton lobster that would elevate this dish.

Tastes of soy sauce, without further perceptible modification, which was an Asian touch that seemed perfunctory. Solid, though not mindblowing.

I really like crusty ends, and thanks to maitre d’ Hélène Cousin for noticing that.

“He Has Left Us Alone but Shafts of Light Sometimes Grace the Corner of Our Rooms…“

11. Peche cotiere du Golfe du Morbihan au <<Cotes du Jura>> (4.75/5)

pommes de terre nouvelles

grilled monkfish from Brittany, which was a classic. New potatoes, which had a nice sweetness, along with springy monkfish, cabbage, spinach, and a vin jaune sauce. Very classic, and executed beautifully.

I was served almost the same dish at my last meal here, and there the winter vegetables, bursting with sugar, sung with a true harmony of flavors. Here the vegetable sausage was a bit rougher and drier than I remembered. The vegetables seemed a bit less flavorful. To be honest, if I wasn’t served a sublime version two years ago, I wouldn’t have known what the fuss about this dish was all about.

13. Vegetable minestrone, chorizo, parmesan (4/5)

I think my personal joy of a L’Arpege meal is just being able to take in the sweetness and unreal quality of the produce from Passard’s farms. A real sweetness in the carrots, and peas- peas that are perhaps less juicy that those at Manresa in California or Etxebarri in Basque country, but so giving to the bite, and the two halves sliding off each other so easily. Very tender, excellent produce.

14. Grande rotisserie d’heritage Louise Passard (4/5)

eleveurs de nos regions

Chicken, fig-leaf oil, potato gnocchi

Good. Passard likes to cook his chicken more than other chefs, and this was a bit tougher than I would like. But it was more tender than the winter version.

What is there about the Bernard Antony Comte that hasn’t been said? Nothing. But I’ll say it again: a dry, nutty, textured shavings of a scarcely-sandy, sweet, cheese. Every bite reveals a food complete in itself. May it repose, self-satisfied. Masterpiece (5/5).

16. Millefeuille rhubarbe <<vintage>> a l’angelique officinale (5/5)

sirop rose

Thank the Gods Passard among the top Paris chefs still prepares his millefeuille (I could not find it on the menu at L’Ambroisie or Ledoyen). It is perfect. The flaky pastry cuts beautifully, and with an audible crunch. Rhubarb millefeuille with sour cherries, and then paired off with an intensely floral rose ice cream, which brought to mind the intensely floral geranium oil in the beetroot sushi that our meal started off with.

Fresh Strawberries

17. Sucreries

macaron, nougat, tuile, bouquet de roses®, pop-corn…

Angelique (sinensis? danggui?) caramel was very interesting – the bitter herbal taste going well with the sweet stickiness of caramel; choux, sweet, macaron, and the mini bouquet of roses tart.

On the dungeon room: “I turned abruptly, so that the courteous distance between the hostess and me was slightly reduced, and politely inquired whether it was possible to be seated upstairs. “Since you made a reservation at the last minute, this is all we can do,” followed the firm response from the slim, fragile-looking young woman who seemed not to be inclined to change her mind. Our insistence that we indeed cared enough to make a reservation two months in advance by both mail and phone and were forced to reschedule due to special circumstances didn’t seem to soften her heart, and we were seated in the dungeon at the farthest table from the entrance with a promise, however, to be moved upstairs in case any of the more privileged diners wouldn’t object to dining downstairs or would finish their dinner early.After the hostess disappeared and we were left alone for a short while, I was stunned to recognize the smell of mold, of a basement, of an old building flooded for a long time: a smell of rot and age that would undoubtedly interfere with the appreciation of food, since when the nose fails, 80% of the ability to taste is lost. The thought crossed my mind that the disparity in comfort between good tables and bad tables – that is, the difference between the upper and lower rooms – while offset by genuine chords of compassionate sighs from the staff, was so much more extreme than at similar establishments, that perhaps it should place on Arpège the obligation to inform a diner in advance of his seating assignment.“Do you sense the smell of …” I started saying, lifting my eyes up at my consort to find out whether he detected an unpleasant odor as well, and stopped in the middle of the sentence with a chill running through my body as I saw him turning pale with a dew of cold sweat on his forehead, taking me back to the recent past in a momentary flash and a sudden burst of memory where I was terrified watching a neuro-surgeon, who happened to be on the same plane with us, gently chuckle, mumbling “It’s always big men who faint,” while taking my husband’s blood pressure.We were very apologetic on our way out. “The last thing we all want is me passing out in your restaurant,” laughingly added my consort halfway out, but… apparently this last argument was quite convincing, and a cozy table in the main room across from the entrance was kindly offered and accepted.”

On caviar quality: “Caviar osciètre royal d’Iran (nouvelle pêche).
When a bowl of white, thick and smooth, creamy and lightly frothed Jerusalem artichoke velouté, whose gentle flow was disturbed only by the dark beads of the scoop of Iranian Royal Caviar in the center, was placed in front of me, before I attempted to unravel the flavors of this pictorial dish and examine the quality of the caviar, a reminiscence of the first time I tried beluga – the world-class 000 malossol caviar (from Astrakhan, aged for two months), with large (about 3 millimeters in diameter) beads, leaving an unforgettable sensation as little black pearls popped lightly when pressed against the roof of my mouth with my tongue, releasing, just like good butter, a soft, rich and exquisitely delicate flavor with a hint of sweetness, a slightly nutty flavor and a clean, smooth finish – brought back a pleasant feeling.With current problems relating to overfishing in the Caspian Sea and trade restrictions on Russian sturgeon, I hardly expected to see beluga on the menu, though the price of the dish prompted high expectations, but I anticipated finding excellent quality osetra and was surprised and disappointed after examining it.Iranian caviar has several disadvantages compared to Russian (specifically, along the Volga, “the mother of sturgeon rivers” –Inga Saffron) that may affect the quality and taste, in my opinion: 1) Osetra from the cooler waters of the southwest shores (the coast of Iran in the Caspian Sea) doesn’t develop the complexity of flavors, ranging from fruity to nutty, lingering pleasantly in the mouth, for which it is praised. 2) There is a fine art to producing top-quality caviar that varies from fish to fish, applied depending on whether the eggs are perfectly ripe, immature or too mature, requiring different curing techniques to bring out the best in the roe. These skills were mastered over the centuries in Russia and were passed from generation to generation assuring the high level of integrity of the product, whereas the consumption of both sturgeon and its roe and even touching the fish were not allowed by Islam, since sturgeon doesn’t have scales, so that Iranian participation in the caviar trade has really been only a 20th-century phenomenon.The dark-gray-to-brown color of the beads on my plate, indicating a stronger flavor (lighter, golden color osetra is more delicate), their medium size, uniformity and shine were very attractive, and I anticipated a little burst as I put several pearls in my mouth only to be disappointed by a sluggish, soggy result lacking the distinctive “pop,” and sadly, a very salty, straightforward flavor, which is an indication of inferior quality.Lightly salting caviar, as with Russian Malossol, is the desired treatment for the best eggs, allowing no more than 3% salt in relation to the egg weight; lesser grades can have up to 10%. Mixing salt with borax (an old method utilized in Russia to simulate the 16th century approach where caviar was penetrated by borax from the soil, near the Caspian Sea, in which bags with caviar were buried to age), results in caviar with a more rounded, sweeter flavor. There were none of these characteristics in the caviar at Arpège. In fact, it tasted as if it were pasteurized, which sometimes is done after curing and packing to prolong caviar’s shelf life, but which permanently alters the eggs’ delicate protein, resulting in sogginess.“Passard should change his supplier, but this dish is excellent,” said my consort, referring to the caviar, as he mixed it thoroughly with the velouté, and took a spoonful of the gently warm mixture. Indeed, despite the name of the dish, caviar was not the central element in this composition. The suave, rich velouté (slightly warmer than room temperature) was so intense in its gentle flavor that it was as if the last drop of life had been drawn out of the vegetable, revitalizing the creamy liquid and permeating it with a subtle, softly sweet and precise flavor. As the caviar beads spread out in the liquid and contributed their salty intonations, the sweetness seemed to blend naturally with the salt without being suppressed. It was a nice progression of flavors from slightly sweet to salty-sweet, with a gentle amalgamation of all components giving the dish its very structure, which didn’t shock, just pleased. Though the title, accenting a less-than-perfect component, was misleading, the ultimate result of the whole dish seemed to transcend the ingredients.”

On the same thread, a poster named Orik compares Passard’s vegetable cuisine with his cuisine in the 90s: “lxt,I don’t have my summary of the last meal at Arpege in front of me, but vegetables vs. meat is not a primary concern. I can only remember having eaten a few meat dishes at the 1990s Arpege (wild hare once, a couple of amazingly good duck preparations and the pigeon, never beef, pork or lamb). Their seared foie gras was not an interesting dish – scallops, lobster and fish, truffles and vegetables were always the stars.The notes from our last meal there are not in front of me, but let me see if I can recall:1. Luxury ingredients – the menu still features homard breton and caviar, so there is no real movement away from these ingredients. However, the lobster in yellow wine used to include truffle shavings (otherwise it was identical) and sell for half its current price. Also, there was previously a wonderful truffle and parmesan soup, in our last visit this was replaced with caramelized onion gratin. I’m not going to argue with anyone claiming that an onion can bring him or her the same pleasure as truffles and parmesan – this is a subjective matter, but it surely brings pleasure to the restaurant’s accountant, as both dishes sell for about the same price.2. Quality of ingredients, complexity of preparation – also in our last visit, we ordered a mushroom soup. Sivan tasted it and said “well, this is most certainly a very plain mushroom soup”. The following day we saw passard offering the same soup at some sort of a food event, together with the recipe – champignons, stock, cream… Nothing different from how you would have prepared cream of mushroom. 64 Euros, I think (or was it 48? ridiculous, in any event).3. Wine prices – the restaurant can do as it pleases, but there are some cases where prices in Euro are not much lower than they were in Francs…

4. Boredom – the egg, both lobster preparation, a couple of variations on the caviar theme (sometimes it’s with avocado), a very large whole roasted bass, when available, even a slightly modified version of the scallop dish (I think the cabbage was only present in the lobster with yellow wine before) have been on the menu for many years. If you look at the cuisine of the 1990 [sic] and the current cuisine, you’ll see just how much of the supposed change is purely marketing and cost cutting.

5. Cheese service – used to be exceptional, has become miserable, but this isn’t unique to Arpege.

In short, from a relatively casual 3 star, serving innovative cuisine at very low prices (I actually have a check for 2800 FF including 1000 FF for wine), Arpege has become one of the most expensive restaurants in France, yet its cuisine, service and decor did not evolve significantly. Still a destination for someone who hasn’t tried Passard’s cuisine. Fortunately we were never seated in the basement 😉 “

“Is Alain Passard a near magician who can cook with his left hand, so to speak, and still concoct absolutely perfect dishes? Probably. Few can compete with him to create such elegant and amazingly harmonious dishes, which look simple on the plate but reveal so much intensity and complexity with each bite without losing focus. His Fin gazpacho a la moutarde onctueuse d’Orleans, Homard des Iles Chaussey “Arpege”, and Turbot de Bretagne are all culinary masterpieces. They are masterpieces because the raw materials are perfect or near perfect (somehow the lobster meat had perfect texture but lacked the sweetness we associate with great blue lobster), the balance between acidity, nuttiness and sweetness in each dish is optimum, and all of these dishes are original and express the inimitable style of a great chef in bringing out the full range of flavors hidden in his ingredients without torturing them or subjecting them to senseless experiments with texture, as many Passard imitators do. In fact, when he prepares a risotto du potager with various root and other vegetables from his garden, one feels that all our preconceived notions about luxury and “grand dining” can be laid to rest for a while. Sometimes the most simple (but not simplistic) is also the most decadent.”

This entire post by foodsnob on l’Arpege is some of the best food writing I have ever encountered anywhere.

In January 2001, Alain Passard made the headlines, having declared that ‘my menu will be entirely and exclusively dedicated to vegetables’. His decision was motivated mainly by personal choice, but in part by health concerns too (mad cow disease had reached France the previous year). The chef, having spent thirty years establishing himself as a maître rôtisseur, admitted that he ‘didn’t take any pleasure any more in eating meat’ and that ‘blood and animal flesh’ had stopped being a source of inspiration. The situation became so serious that Passard spent an entire year away from his kitchen, only setting foot in the restaurant to eat. ‘I no longer wanted to be in a daily relationship with the corpse of an animal. I had a moment when I took a roast out into the dining room and the reality struck me that every day I was struggling to have a creative relationship with a corpse, a dead animal. And I could feel inside me the weight and the sadness of the cuisine animale.’

Vegetables were his salvation. He needed new motivation and found it by replacing the raw materials with which he moiled, ‘like an artist who works in watercolours and turns his hand to oils or a sculptor in wood who changes to bronze’. The colours, flavours and perfumes of greens, herbs and flowers appealed to and stimulated him; more to the point, they changed his life. ‘All the terrible nervousness and bad temper that are so much part of the burden of being a chef were gone with the old cooking. I entered into a new relation to my art, but also to my life. And the lightness of what I was doing began to enter my body and my entire existence and it entered into the existence of the kitchen. It was like a light that I saw and a door that I walked through’.

…

“The restaurant itself resides near the prime minister’s offices and government ministries, on a quiet street, opposite the Musée Rodin. Without, it is non-descript and unadorned save some flowery script that spells out l’Arpège, but within, the dining room is warm and comfortable. Rich browns and earthy oranges dominate; pear wood panels line the interior; and a dog-eared, burgundy carpet covers the floor. Music is Passard’s second love and the melodious insinuation suggested in the restaurant’s title is maintained by the motif inside: handmade Lalique pâtes de verre, inspired by the carriages of the Orient Express and inset along the far wall, depict Pan playing the flute whilst frolicking with two naked nymphs (images mimicked on menu covers); an abstract split cello sculpture by Arman sits in one corner; a coarsely-carved wooden guitar grows out the serving station; and, upon Bernard Pictet windows, etched waves ripple. This undulating design is also incorporated into Jean-Christophe Plantrou’s peau de poirier panelling and Massacar ebony furniture pieces. Rich, red leather upholstered chrome seats andchariots as well as the various bucolic bibelots such as large desiccated gourds or little twig bundles that rest upon tables, play on art déco principles. The only presence on the room’s walls is the nineteen-thirties/forties portrait of Louise Passard, which watches over the ‘chef’s chair’. White linen tabletops are dressed with bright red cover plates, Bernaudaud crockery, Christofle cutlery and customised glassware inscribed ‘Fabrique pour Alain Passard’.”

ChuckEats –

“As I’ve written before, L’Arpege can be hit or miss. At its best, it is the pinnacle of modern fine dining – excellent ingredients whose natural qualities are emphasized to unbelievable heights. There is a balance, precision, and purity of flavor – not new taste combinations or culinary technique from the future. When it is performing at this level, it is a contemplative and ephemeral cuisine, like poetry.”

There is also a comic book published in 2013 about Alain Passard’s cooking: In The Kitchen with Alain Passard, which I enjoyed very much. Here are some choice words from Alain Passard:

“I want to make people talk about carrots the way they talk about grand crus. Terroir is extremely important for me. We did trials. I asked the guys to plant seeds in three terroirs. The same turnip seeds, for a mauve-and-white turnip. The idea is to see how the produce reacts to different terroirs. In the Sarthe you have sandy soil. In the Manche it’s alluvial soil, and in the Eure it’s clay. Rainfall patterns are different. To see where the plant becomes tastiest and most elegant. The crew sends me turnips from the three terroirs after a few months. I evaluate the color, the look, the smell, the mouthfeel. I cut each one open, observe the texture and the smell. I taste it raw. I taste it cooked, and finally, I taste it like a wine. I put it through the juicer. I sip the turnip juice. And I say, “Ah voila.” It’s the Eure. Because the turnip feels at home there. The Eure produces the prime turnip, the cream of the crop. We test every fruit and vegetable in this way to determine the best place for it. Every vegetable will be a grand cru.“

When I was dining recently at Jaan in Singapore, I was having a post-meal chat with Chef Julien Royer about his sensitivity to produce. And it turned out Alain Passard, vegetable maestro, had visited Jaan in November 2012, while he was in Singapore. Singapore also has l’Arpege alumnus Gunther Hubrechsen running his own restaurant Gunther’s.

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At lunch on Christmas Eve 2012, I finally got to dine at l’Arpege. In advance, I will say I found the meal extremely memorable, and the highs were truly magical.

Wine: Domaine Michel Lafarge Volnay

Amuse-bouche #1: les Tartelettes.

A showcase of the sweetness of vegetables.

Amuse-bouche #2: Beetroot sushi. (4/5)

sushi legumier au raifort – parfum d’arriere saison

The introduction of beetroot sushi is down to Passard’s #2, Anthony Beldroega. A sweet and floral beetroot, then wasabi and vinegared rice. I wasn’t a great fan of this, the wasabi overshadowed the gentle sweetness of the beetroot.

One of l’Arpege’s signature dishes, this dish blew me away. A Cevennes Saint-Andre White Onion has an delicate sweet flavor. Here they were caramelised to concentrate the sweetness and put in a parmesan gratin, and had a sweet-tangy finish that the mild shaved black truffle did perfectly to complement.

The beetroot had almost been colonised by the salt on the exterior, and there was a sweet gradient. The vibrant purple color was (and still is) hypnotic. Colour, Simplicity, Sweet and Salt. A signature l’Arpege dish; beets are a favorite ingredient of Alain Passard.

Main #4: “Celerisotto”: Celeriac, Cheddar, horseradish (5/5)

Another signature l’Arpege dish. Celeriac (or celery root) is one of the few root vegetables with little starch (5-6%) here it was diced into firm and juicy cubes. A dish that is all about texture. Superb.

A sausage made of beetroot and carrot, the skin made of lamb (the only non-vegetable based ingredient on this plate). Again, highlighting the potential of vegetables. Of the highest quality.

Main #6: Smoked beetroot and celery consomme, vegetable ravioli (5/5)

A deep orange smoked consomme, another l’Arpege signature. Again, cooking of the highest order and imagination, with the best vegetables imaginable.

Main #7: Salad, walnut sauce, parmesan (5/5)

The best salad I have ever had. Sweet as if each leaf was dusted with powdery honey. Each salad is carefully hand-assembled leaf by leaf in the kitchen. (That’s why you pay so much I guess.) Tyler Cowen mentions that great food can be found in Haiti due to low labor costs, allowing labor-intensive food preparation. Here’s the flip-side of the equation – the best salad of your life at European labor costs, which is why l’Arpege puts the smackdown on any diner’s wallet.

Main #8: Roasted chicken in hay (3/5)

ecailles ou plumes – reflet de la gourmandise

Here was the big miss of the meal for me. Others have talked about Alain Passard as a master roaster. Unfortunately the chicken here was tough and tasteless. I didn’t finish this dish.

Incredible. The Bouquet of Roses makes a sneak appearance in miniature as the apple tart; carrot macarons and brown geranium teardrops were the other highlights of the dessert tray.

Dessert: Pear and Vanilla Millefeuille (5/5)

Why do things change? Plato thought it was because the world of appearances is a degenerate plane of existence, separate from the world of abstract Forms. I am happy to report that the Platonic Form is millefeuille has deigned to visit us in our degenerate world, and it is found in l’Arpege. Everyone oohs and aahs over the l’Arpege millefeuille, because it is the best millefeuille on Earth. Incredibly flaky, buttery, light, streaked with caramel. I will remember this for a very long time.

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l’Arpege deserves its reputation at the pinnacle of world restaurants. If you would like to taste the possibilities of vegetables, you must pay a visit to l’Arpege. WIth a sunny and light-kissed dining room, I found l’Arpege’s decor very warm and inviting. According to Adam Goldberg (A Life Worth Eating), lunch service and dinner service at l’Arpege are quite similar, so lunch might be a better sampler option for those who don’t want to burn 400 Euros on one meal.

I dine, partially to experience the creativity of master chefs, who devote their lives to perfecting their craft, partially to form taste-memories of the Gilded Age of cooking. It is the Golden Age of cooking; it is the Gilded Age of food. I left l’Arpege having learnt what it meant for vegetables to be grand crus.